𝐈'𝐦 𝐚𝐧 𝐄𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝𝐲 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥 (𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐃)

Chapter 47: The Hall of Banners

The first trumpets sounded at dawn. From the marble terraces of the Imperial Palace, Arsen and I watched the delegations snake up the Imperial Way, each caravan marked by the colors of a different nation.

The United National Assembly convened in the empire once every decade, and the capital had spent months preparing: roads widened, banners mended, kitchens stocked with spices from six continents.

Arsen stood at the top of the grand stair, clad in deep maroon edged with golden thread, the imperial insignia catching the morning sun. I was beside him in a gown of old maroon, my crown simpler than his but no less weighty.

I was secretly happy that this time around, I had Arsen with me for this occasion. In the previous timeline, he was deep in the war with the barbarian, leaving me to handle everything by myself. At that time, I was also so busy with war restoration and ended up entrusting most of the duty to that bastard Constantine which earned him some foreigns support during his uprising. So yeah, definitely no Constantine this time around.

Thankfully, he didn't even show up today. Apparently, his precious Phoebe was sick and needed his full attention.

I took a deep breath and straightened up my back, keeping my composure poised and in control. I was ready.

First came the seafarers of Meridia, their admiral bearing a chest of salt pearls and a treaty sealed in wax the color of storm clouds. Arsen clasped the man's forearm, the old soldier's grip. "Your ships gave us safe passage last winter," he said. "The empire remembers." The admiral bowed, relief visible under his weathered face.

Next, the highland delegates from Thorne arrived with no gifts, only a folded map. Their chancellor, a woman with iron gray hair, spoke plainly: "Our passes are blocked by snow that won't melt. If the Assembly cannot agree on shared grain stores, my people starve by midwinter."

I stepped forward and took the map myself, breaking the custom. "Then we speak of grain first," I said, "before oaths or feasts."

A murmur ran through the watching courtiers. It was not often that I overrode ceremonies.

I noted the envoy from the Isle of Ydris standing alone. Ydris had sent no delegation for twenty years. The young man wore black with no sigil, and his eyes kept drifting to the great windows, as if judging how far the drop was. When his turn came, he offered no gift and no title. "I speak for the drowned," he said. His voice was quiet, but it carried. "We ask the Assembly to remember the islands that are no longer on your maps."

A silence followed. I inclined my head. "Then we will redraw the maps," I said.

The next envoy in particular stood out from the rest, because none quieted the room like the sunburst of Helios, the one called the land of the Gods.

Twelve holy knights entered first, white armor gleaming, swords at their hips, and boxes filled with high-quality healing potions in their hands, courtesy of their princess.

Behind the knights came the envoy. I had read the briefings twice and even heard the first-hand account from Priestess Maria, yet the sight of them still drew my attention sharply.

Princess Belladonna walked at the front. Infamous, exiled, and once abandoned by her own father. She was as fair as fresh snow, with long platinum blonde hair that fell past her waist in soft waves. Her eyes were amethyst, bright and unreadable, set in a face so beautiful that the court painters would have wept to capture it. She wore no crown, only a simple circlet of silver, and her gown was an elegant lotus silk robe in deep violet.

It wasn't every day I could say I saw a woman more beautiful than Phoebe, but this princess was truly on a whole other level. Probably it was due to her somehow holy aura, it was as if the Gods truly focused their blessings on her look.